Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

responded according to White House protocol. “Yes, Mr. President.”
    As Jack went for the door, Harry stopped him.
    “Who are you off to charm next?”
    Jack looked at him. Was he being sarcastic? The words came out flatly, but Jack had to wonder. It was obvious Harry didn’t agree with his blatant indifference to the terror alert system. Damn Harry Tharp and his twenty-seven votes.
    “It’s the anniversary of the Kabwe massacre in Zambia. I invited President Mazoka here to talk about what we can do to inspire peace in their homeland. I think we need to do more than offer them some handouts with terror swatches on it. Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”
    Harry ducked his chin into his chest. “Of course, Mr. President.”
    Jack went for the door again, but this time he stood there, holding it open. Harry glanced at Simon, who offered only a cocked eyebrow. Harry practically ran out the open door.
    Jack closed the door behind him and returned to his seat at the head of the sitting area. Simon stood still. He waited the requisite thirty seconds that he always did after someone left the Oval before speaking candidly.
    “What an asshole,” Simon said on his way back to his seat on the couch. “If it wasn’t for Florida …”
    Jack smirked, but then his expression quickly dissolved from his face. “What’s our friend’s status with his project?” The coded language about how a National Archives conservator was proceeding with his examination of the lost Constitution article and the accompanying letter, which was running past six hours now, sounded like Tony Soprano talking over a public phone line. But Jack didn’t yet know if the walls in the Oval Office had ears or not.
    “He’s finished and taking full advantage of being sequestered in the residence, sir.”
    Jack didn’t know what Simon meant by ‘taking full advantage’, and right now he didn’t care. “What’s his conclusion?”
    Simon’s face remained as rigid as the lifeless memorials scattered across the D.C. landscape while he delivered the shocking news. “He examined the ink; iron gall with traces of gum arabic and logwood colorant. The ink make-up exactly matches the ink on the Constitution. The handwriting also matches letter for letter. The documents themselves are parchment. There are several rough areas on both documents, as there are on the Constitution. He said they were undoubtedly made by the scribe using a penknife to erase his mistakes. As you may already know, parchment is an unforgiving medium, and was very expensive at the time. Scribes had only one shot when working with parchment. The documents have also been damaged by years of humidity and moisture, not to mention that insects have nibbled away at their edges over the years. There was also random ink splatter—”
    The president held up his hand. “Just tell me if he thinks they’re authentic.”
    Simon cleared his throat. “He says they’re authentic, Mr. President. There’s no doubt in his mind.”

Chapter 16
    Anthony Fantroy heard his private line ringing from across his study. Two staccato shrieks followed by a full second of silence. Then another two shrieks. He picked it up on the fourth round of rings. Before he put the phone to his ear, Fantroy prepared himself for the news. Even though their phone lines were completely secured, they all knew the rules. Communications are halted during missions, except for emergencies. Fantroy could only assume things were not proceeding as planned.
    It was Nathan Broederlam, and yes, the news was as bad as it could get.
    Anthony Fantroy continued listening to Nathan Broederlam, but he had already heard the most important words.
    Sydney Dumas has escaped.
    “Have you heard back from Taber?” Fantroy asked.
    “Not yet, sir,” Nathan replied. “But Mr. Taber and his men are professionals. It shouldn’t take long to find her.”
    Fantroy sat back in his antique leather chair, its wood frame creaking under his unassuming weight. He began formulating his wishes to deal with the situation. He had been the one who made sure Nathan used the monastery for this exact reason. Without suitable transportation, there was nowhere to run. There was little chance that Ms. Dumas would last for more than a day or two in the Mexican wilderness without food, water, a cell phone, or money. Still, Fantroy couldn’t take any chances. He was listening to the meeting when Sydney Dumas had tabled the discussions. It was before Broederlam